


Unplanned Fortunate Discovery

by LondonSpirit



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Airports, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anxious David Rose, Attempt at Humor, Awkward Flirting, Dramatic David Rose, Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt, Eventual Happy Ending, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Mentioned Sebastien Raine, POV Alternating, Past Patrick/Rachel, Patrick Brewer is Gay, Patrick Brewer is a Troll, Sebastien Raine is an Asshole, Sexuality Crisis, Sort Of, Strangers to Lovers, Talking, Teasing, Travel, as in blink and you miss it, not really a crisis - more like a hiccup, very briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:49:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29000982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonSpirit/pseuds/LondonSpirit
Summary: Patrick's running away from everything that's wrong in his life.David's going back to what's left of his life.They meet on a plane - on two consecutive New Year's.Realizations happen in between.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 47
Kudos: 167





	Unplanned Fortunate Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> This is loosely based on the movie Serendipity. VERY loosely. As in it gave me the idea of the boys meeting once, but not able to forget the other one.  
> Anyhow, this is what my Muse came up with.
> 
> As always, beta'd by my darling [Midgetrosie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Midgetrosie)

_New Year’s - Patrick_

Patrick's been watching him for 20 minutes, watching him fiddle with his rings, smooth down his shirt, shift in his seat. He’s basically the epitome of anxiety and nervousness. 

Patrick has no idea what it is that keeps him glancing over. 

At first he thought it was the massive scarf, hiding the lower half of his face. Every now and then he pulls it up again, like he’s hiding behind it. Which he might be; Patrick has seen him use sanitizer spray on the armrests at least two times and once in the air around him. 

Then he gets distracted by his overly expressive eyes: he rolls them at something the stewardess says to him and narrows them at the guy with the persistent cough in front of him. They widen for a second as they meet Patrick’s, who looks away, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. 

It still doesn’t stop him from looking again. 

Maybe it is his hair, luscious and dark, too perfectly styled for a red-eye. Although there is a small strand that keeps escaping, curling enticingly into the permanent frown on his forehead. 

He looks utterly miserable and yet Patrick is charmed. Which is a very new feeling for him. He spends ten more minutes not examining it. He is trying to get away from feelings, from feeling overwhelmed and confused, from feeling too little for the woman he’s supposed to marry in six months. 

The man in row C is a welcome distraction, even though Patrick’s stomach is still churning. He can still hear his mother’s worried voice in his ear as she asked if he was alright, sees his father’s concerned face. His half-assed explanation sounded terrible even to his own ears. Before he can descend into the hellish realms of his own consciousness, the man in row C draws his attention again. 

This time it’s his hands, fluttering through the air as he tries to explain something to the slightly annoyed stewardess. Patrick has no idea what it is about, but the _drama_ of the man’s gestures, underlining every word animatedly, is hypnotizing. He’s wearing four wide silver bands on his long fingers and they catch the dim lights of the night flight. 

He comes across rather forcefully even though he never really raises his voice. But the way he pulls the sleeves of his oversized sweater back over his hands, makes something in Patrick’s chest ache. 

He tears his eyes away from the man and glances at his phone, sighing heavily. Another 90 minutes. Thankfully the plane is rather empty, and he has the row all to himself. He could stretch out and get some sleep. One of the reasons he’s taken this flight, fewer people - nobody in their right mind would take a flight at this time of night. 

Patrick grins at himself; he is definitely not in his right mind. 

“You’re staring,” a dark voice accuses, tearing him out of his head. When he looks up, the man in row C is glaring at him over his scarf, those impressive eyebrows drawn into an equally impressive frown. 

“Shit,” Patrick mutters, eliciting one of those eyebrows to rise up. “Sorry,” he adds a bit louder, forcing himself to look away. Getting caught out puts another flush on his face, and he slides deeper into his seat. He is sure he hears the man scoff, but he doesn't dare look up again. 

Ten minutes pass before he carefully peeks over again. Row C is curled up in his seat, arms wrapped around himself, hands tucked into the sleeves, the scarf pushed to one side to act as a pillow. His eyes are closed, the frown between his brows isn’t as pronounced anymore. Patrick watches him for a few more minutes now that he can, taking in all the small details he didn’t see before: the soft curve of his mouth; the dark and well trimmed stubble covering his chin; the small, well-formed ears. 

Patrick realizes that he is a very attractive man. Huh. 

A cramp in his calf makes Patrick jump to his feet, cursing softly under his breath. He keeps an eye on the sleeping man. He’s not moving and Patrick sighs in relief; he already made an idiot out of himself. The cramp subsides and Patrick slowly walks down the aisle, carefully shaking out his leg. While he’s at it, he visits the bathroom, splashing some water on his face. His eyes are burning and his already pale skin looks even paler in the bright lights. He growls at himself, rubs a hand through his hair and walks back out. 

On his way to his seat he passes Row C. The man is still sleeping, and up close he’s even more handsome. As Patrick walks past him, he moves in his sleep, making some adorable little noises. Patrick grits his teeth as something warm unfurls in his chest. 

“Pull yourself together, Brewer”, he mutters to himself. 

“Yes, please do.” 

Patrick jumps, looking over his shoulder. Row C is glowering at him, but there’s a softness around his brown eyes that makes Patrick smile at him. 

“Trying to,” he says quietly. 

The guy’s eyebrows rise again. “Try harder.” The corner of his mouth twitches as if he’s suppressing a grin. 

“Wanna help?” Patrick has no idea why he said that, but it makes Row C’s suppressed grin break free; just for a second before he reins it in again, sitting up some more, pulling the scarf tighter around his shoulders. 

“You won’t want my help,” he says, and there’s something in his tone that makes Patrick wince. 

“What if I do?” he shoots back, faintly wondering what the hell he is doing. 

“Then I’d say, buy me a drink and I’ll show you why that’s a bad idea.” It comes out quick and sharp. It makes Patrick laugh at the absurdity of their conversation and the overall circumstances. 

“Glad you find that funny,” Row C says haughtily, but his eyes are twinkling, and Patrick can see a tiny dimple form on his cheek. 

“What’s your poison then?” he asks, looking around for a stewardess. 

“Water.” Dark brown eyes meet Patrick’s, daring him to question that choice and the warmth in his chest grows. Staring back, their eye contact lasts a moment too long. 

“Still or sparkling?” Patrick asks, biting back a smile. 

“What do you think?” 

Patrick eyes him thoughtfully, giving it more thought than the situation demands. 

Row C purses his lips, waiting impatiently. 

“Still,” Patrick says eventually. 

Row C huffs. “Lucky guess.” 

“Oh, I never guess,” Patrick grins. One of the stewardesses comes over. “Can we have a bottle of still water and a ginger tea please? Thank you.” 

“A whole bottle? You’re spoiling me,” Row C quips, shifting in his seat. 

“Only the best for you,” Patrick shoots back; he hesitates only a moment before he flops into the empty seat at the other side of the aisle. 

Row C clutches his heart mockingly. “My hero,” he stage-whispers, the small smile dancing over his lips gone as quickly as it appeared. 

“Och, Patrick is fine, no need for the hero complex,” Patrick says, winking at the other man. He can almost hear him roll his eyes and he bites back another grin. 

“Well, nice to meet you, Patrick.” The way Patrick’s name rolls off his tongue makes his heart beat a bit faster. 

“Nice to meet you too-” Patrick replies, waiting, but there’s only a slow smile that doesn’t help his heart. 

“Nothing?” Patrick asks dryly, tilting his head. “I’ll keep calling you Row C then?” 

“So you’ve already got a name for me?” He narrows his eyes at Patrick again. 

“Well, seems like you wanna remain a mystery, so Row C it is,” Patrick says, huffing amused at their banter. It’s easy, it’s casual and it helps to keep his chaotic emotions at bay. 

The stewardess interrupts them, setting the water in front of Row C and the tea in front of Patrick, nodding at them and vanishes again. 

Patrick wrecks his brain to keep the conversation going; it takes him a few minutes to realize that the silence between them isn’t uncomfortable. It’s rather nice, calming in a weird sort of way. The other man is sipping his water, and it takes another moment for Patrick to notice that the nervousness from earlier has dissipated: his hands are curled around his glass, but his fingers are still, he’s not shifting in his seat and he’s radiating a sense of calm. 

Patrick can feel the stress of the past weeks slip away, and surprisingly he dozes off. He jerks awake as the cabin address comes on, informing them that they’ll be landing in 20 minutes. 

“I should get back to my seat,” Patrick says hesitantly, not wanting to leave. 

“Probably.” 

Patrick stands, stretching, considering what to say. They didn’t really talk much, and yet the past hour has been the most pleasant he’d had in while. “Well, it’s been a pleasure-” he starts, but Row C interrupts him. 

“To watch you sleep.” It’s soft and there’s a hint of earnestness in his tone as he meets Patrick’s eyes. He blushes a little. 

“I guess that’s only fair,” he replies, “I did the same before.” He waves a hand at him, smiling gently. 

“I think so, yeah.” 

They keep looking at each other, until Patrick finally breaks the eye contact and walks back to his seat. He buckles in, risking one last look at Row C. He’s watching him, some complicated expressions dancing over his face. Nodding at Patrick, he starts collecting his things, wrapping the scarf back over his face. It somehow makes Patrick sad, but he can’t do anything about it. Tearing his eyes away from him, he settles into his seat, looking out the window. 

*

The landing is smooth, the plane empties quickly, and Patrick feels a disappointed tug in his stomach as he watches Row C leave without looking back. 

He runs into him in the short line before security. 

“Hello again,” Patrick says calmly, gripping his bag tighter. 

“You’re stalking me, aren’t you?” 

“Yes, of course, because I have nothing better to do at-” he glances at his phone, “- five am on a Sunday.” 

Row C snorts, shaking his head. “I should call security.” 

Patrick waves a hand forward. “No need to, they’re right there.” 

The man rolls his eyes at him while his mouth curls into a smirk. 

“Next!” the bored security guard calls. 

Patrick watches Row C step forward, show his passport. He squares his shoulders as the border agent scrutinizes him, and something in the way Row C stiffens and holds his head high, makes cold creep over Patrick’s skin. 

But then it’s his turn, and he fumbles for his own passport, handing it over. When he steps through, he frantically scans the hall for the other man. He sighs with relief as he finds him standing in the middle of the concourse, phone in hand, glaring down at it. 

Patrick sidles up next to him as casual as possible - which isn’t much to start with. 

“Everything okay?” 

“Ugh, my sister was supposed to pick me up, but she’ll be late. So I guess I’ll be loitering about on my own in an abandoned airport at 5 in the morning like a crazy person.” Despite his sharp and dismissive tone, Patrick can feel the hurt beneath the words. 

He doesn’t think twice as he says: 

“If you want some company-, I mean to not seem totally crazy. I don’t have anywhere to be.” He swallows, averting his eyes, but he has the feeling the other man knows exactly that he’s basically running away from his life. 

He doesn’t say anything, just watches him for a moment, those brown eyes looking at him appraisingly. 

“Yeah, alright,” he says, shrugging his bag over his shoulder. “Where are you taking me then on this lovely winter morning?” His tone is dripping with sarcasm. 

Patrick bites back a smile, hoisting his own bag up. 

“Who said *I* am taking you anywhere? I got you drinks on the plane.” 

Row C chuckles, quickly suppressing it again. “You do know that drinks on the plane are free.” 

“Which makes you a very cheap date,” Patrick shoots back, instantly blushing at those words. The other man only raises a very impressive eyebrow at him, not saying anything, and Patrick barrels on. 

“Well, we have the trusty Starbucks, open at all hours of the night, providing caffeine to weary travelers,” he says quickly, slowly starting towards the mall. 

“If I have any more caffeine, I won’t need anyone to pick me up, I can vibrate to wherever I need to go.” 

Patrick laughs at that, nodding thoughtfully. 

“Alright, what about- Wendy’s? Burgers for all hours of the day. Or night?” 

Row C chuckles. “You don’t know me, so you don’t realise that me saying no to that is basically a miracle. Still, no, my stomach won’t forgive me for that.” 

“Okay, something light then.” Patrick strolls through the wide mall; there’s only a few people around, all looking as tired as he feels. “Bakery?” 

“Hm, I could do with a lovely fresh croissant,” Row C muses. 

“I‘ll have you know that fresh at an airport is rather debatable,” Patrick says even as he walks towards the brightly lit store at the end of the mall. 

“And I’ll have you know that their pastry is actually made on location, with locally sourced and fresh ingredients.” 

Patrick snorts amused. “I did not know that. Thanks for teaching me something new.” 

They sit down in a corner booth and somehow Patrick ends up getting both their orders: tea and at least three types of pastry because Row C can’t decide between bagels, croissants and the jam-filled donuts. 

“One always needs options,” he says as Patrick comes back, carefully setting the tray on the table. 

“Didn’t know one needed this many options,” Patrick quips, enjoying the brief smirk on the other man’s face. 

“And another thing you just learned.” 

Patrick isn’t sure if they’re still talking about breakfast. 

They eat in silence, and once again Patrick notices how comfortable it is. There’s nothing of the tense silence he is used to with Rachel, the air thick with unsaid things. He had no idea that silence between two people could be like this, calm and peaceful, especially with a stranger. 

“So, Row C, where are you headed?” Patrick asks once he’s finished eating. 

“You need to come up with a new name for me,” he says, wiping his mouth daintily with the flimsy napkin. “We’re not on the plane anymore.” 

Patrick shrugs. “You could just tell me your name, you know.” 

“Pfft, where’s the fun in that?” 

Patrick tilts his head, regarding him. He’d spent most of the flight watching the man, so he can see that his shoulders - which had been almost by his ears since boarding - are now loose and he’s leaning back in his seat, not the least bit put off by Patrick openly watching him. He makes a bit of a show of thinking about that, a bit thrown by the soft smile now lingering on the other man’s lips. 

“Well, it’s a bit unfair,” Patrick muses, “I bought you breakfast.” Patrick has to rein in the amusement in his tone, but it bleeds through, making them both grin stupidly at each other. 

“Fine then,” the other man says, heaving a deep, put-upon sigh, “you can call me David.” 

“David,” Patrick says softly, the name like a soft caress on his tongue. “It suits you.” 

David blushes, ducking his head. “That’s a first,” he murmurs. 

Patrick frowns, opening his mouth to say something but David shakes his head. 

“Don’t.” It's all he says, but there’s something so pained in his tone that makes Patrick stop. 

“So are you telling me where you’re off to, or shall I keep guessing?” he says instead, smiling gently. 

“Guessing is, as previously stated, way more fun,” David says, the teasing in his tone only the smallest bit forced. 

“Fine.” Patrick sits back, taking in the man in front of him, the still stupidly perfect hair, the slight fatigue that starts to show in his face, the very expensive looking sweater. And even Patrick, who never cared about fashion or labels, knows that the small gold logo on David’s carry-on only gets attached to some very pricey luggage. Unless it’s a fake, which Patrick doesn’t believe. 

His behavior is strange; he’s friendly enough but there’s an air around him that makes Patrick think he’s used to a different treatment. His humor is just as dry as Patrick’s, his body language equally open and incredibly guarded. As if he’s used to being hurt, yet he can’t help but make himself available for such hurt. His hands are soft, his nails manicured, the rings barely tarnished, so he doesn’t work with his hands. Patrick has an inkling that he’s bright and intelligent, and the way his nose wrinkles at the cheap art prints on the wall of the airport makes him wonder whether he somehow works in an artistic job. 

Patrick makes a show of frowning at him, rubbing his chin, tapping a finger against his mouth. It seems to draw David’s attention; his dark eyes keep flickering between Patrick’s eyes and his lips back and forth, and Patrick drops his hand, hoping the heat on his cheeks isn’t visible. 

“Drug dealer on vacation,” Patrick blurts out, mainly to dissolve the slight tension he can feel building. 

It works. David laughs out loud, throwing his head back and Patrick somehow knows it’s the first time in a long time that the other man laughed like that. He keeps chuckling, the amusement on his face transforming it into something Patrick could watch for a very long time. 

Patrick munches on his bagel, waiting for David to calm down again. He does after a while, a soft smile still lingering on his lips. 

“Well, that’s another first,” he wheezes, visibly trying to get himself back together. 

“What? Being called a drug dealer, or that you’re on vacation?” Patrick asks dryly. 

“Both actually. But yeah, you’re wrong on both accounts. Not a drug dealer. I mean, they let me in the country, didn’t they?” He waves an elegant hand around the airport. “Also not on vacation. Who goes to New York for vacation?” There’s a bitterness creeping into his tone and he avoids Patrick’s gaze. 

“I do,” Patrick says quietly. “Well, not really vacation. Just- getting away from… things.” He gestures awkwardly around. He has no idea why he’s admitting this; maybe to erase the hardness around David’s eyes. 

“I see,” is David’s low reply. He hesitates a moment, fiddling with the napkin on his tray. “Wanna talk about it?” 

Patrick shrugs. “Not really, no.” Looking up, their eyes meet. “Do you?” He can sense that the other man has just as many issues as he. 

David immediately shakes his head. “Hell no.” His shoulders rise again, and he tugs on the scarf around his shoulders. 

“Okay.” 

They fall silent again, listening to the sounds of the café, the hissing of the coffee maker, the sound of the staff quietly talking. Despite the overly bright lights it feels dreamlike to Patrick. He’s tired, his back aches, and the thought of going out there into the world outside their little travel bubble isn’t a pleasant one. 

David’s phone rings and he scrambles to pick it up. 

“You took your sweet time,” he snarls but his mouth twitches, a tiny smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. 

Patrick watches him as he listens, nodding, making some non-committal noises. 

“Yeah, okay, fine. I’ll be outside, Bay 15, yes. Okay, yes, YES.” He rolls his eyes at Patrick as he keeps listening. “Ugh, Alexis, you can tell me that once you’ve finally picked me up. Get your ass in gear.” He hangs up, taking a deep breath. 

“Sisters,” he groans. 

“Wouldn't know about it,” Patrick grins back, “I’m an only child.” 

“Lucky you.” 

They sit for another moment, before David starts to put his empty wrappers together. 

“I should head out,” he says, “she’ll be here in a few minutes.” 

Patricks nods, disappointment curling cold in his stomach. “I should get going too, need to find how to get to my hotel.” 

David bites his lip, so visibly keeping from saying something, that Patrick stands up more forcefully than intended. “You get going, I’ll clean this up.” He waves at the trays. 

David’s eyes widen at that. “Oh, uhm, well, thank you.” He stands as well. “It’s been really nice to meet you, Patrick,” he says softly. After a moment of just looking at each other, he holds out his hand. Patrick takes it. It’s warm and strong and Patrick squeezes tightly. 

“And you, David from Row C. Have a-” he trails off. He doesn’t know what to say. ‘Have a good life’ sounds so final. And for some reason he would really like to see him again. But he never really knew how to ask for something HE wants. He's always been the one to give, to provide, and so he only nods, hesitantly letting go of David’s hand and watching him gather his things together. 

“Take care of yourself,” Patrick says gently, which gets him one of those half-smiles that seem to be David’s trademark. 

“You too.” 

Throwing his jacket over the handle of his suitcase, David starts walking towards the exit. Patrick watches him leave, feeling worse than when he walked out on Rachel. 

‘Now I know how that felt,’ he thinks as David vanishes around a corner. 

*

An hour later, laying on the hard hotel bed, he scolds himself for not asking for David’s phone number. 

It feels like a lost opportunity. Worse even. 

Like he missed out on the one chance of happiness in his life. 

#####

_New Year’s - David // One Year Later._

David shivers, pulling his jacket closer around himself. He hates the cold, hates the dampness of the air - he can handle a dry cold, can wrap up in layers against it, the more the better, just like he’s done all his life. But it won’t keep the damp out, which keeps creeping into his bones, chilling and too damn familiar. 

He doesn’t know why he even bothered with the annual trip back to New York. Most of his old ‘friends’ have forgotten about him, have moved on. Last year was especially painful, and not even the copious amounts of alcohol could erase the look on some of his so called friends‘ faces. Sebastien’s words had given him the rest and he’d basically fled the lavish party, thrown his things in the suitcase and managed to book a late night flight back to Toronto. 

For one second his mind wants to say ‘home’, but Schitt’s Creek is definitely NOT home. But neither is New York, not anymore. Maybe it had never been, he doesn’t even know anymore. 

And for once Alexis had been the one to rescue him. She had looked at him and instantly known. She hadn’t said anything, only patted his shoulder, shoved his suitcase in the back of the massive car and drove them back. 

He’d spent two days in bed; Stevie eventually had dragged him out of it. Literally. Then she’d bundled him into her car, they drove to Elmdale and got terribly drunk. They woke up together in Stevie’s bed, and after the initial shock, they decided that they had been too drunk for anything else to happen. Sure, they had slept together before a few times, but it hadn’t felt right. 

After some slight awkwardness they had settled into it, and for some reason that had only strengthened their friendship. For the first time in his life David had been content with just being a friend. 

He sighs heavily, slumping deeper into the hard plastic of the seat. He had hoped this year would be better - he had tried to keep in touch with a few people he thought of as close friends. They had texted randomly throughout the past year, and when Janice mentioned that she was throwing a small party for New Year’s, David had hoped to rekindle some of the relationships he managed to keep alive during the past 18 months. 

He should know better by now. 

At least Sebastien hadn’t been there, but it was bad enough without him. 

For once, the party had actually been a small one, at least by Janice’s standards. Only about 50 people, and David could hear every single one whisper as he walked in fashionably late. He felt their eyes on him, could hear their not so hushed shock as his presence. 

And to make matters worse, Janice greeted him like somebody she’d barely known, and not like the oldest friend he’d had. She made quick small talk before wandering off, leaving him to fend for himself. 

He’d squared his shoulders, put on his best ‘I don’t care’ attitude, but after months of slowly losing his edge in a small town with actual nice people and no prejudice, he didn’t last long. He left only moments after the ball dropped, and as the door fell closed behind him, he silently vowed to never turn back. This chapter was done and over with. 

He walked through Times Square in a daze, barely noticing the cheers and New Year wishes flying through the air. He made it back to the small hotel, where he fell into bed and slept for 10 hours. When he woke up this morning, he had to hurry to the airport - only to find out that his flight was delayed by three hours. 

So now he’s here, drowning in self pity, waiting for the plane that’s gonna take him back to Schitt’s Creek. He sighs heavily, shifting to get a bit more comfortable in his seat. 

Maybe it’s because he’s here again, at the airport, feeling terrible, his mind wanders to the unassuming man he’d met on that flight back a year ago. 

Patrick. The name suited him well, fit his stocky frame and his plain clothes. First David had been annoyed; he’d felt him watching him. But then they started talking, bickering really, and something in David’s chest had loosened and in the end he had enjoyed the easy back and forth between them. 

For two hours he had felt normal, was just a regular person having a chat with someone who knew nothing about him, had no idea how broken he was. 

For two hours he had been whoever Patrick wanted him to be. Patrick had made him laugh, made him feel whole again. 

Stiil, he had left him there, in the cold airport cafe, feeling those honey colored eyes on his back as he walked away from the one person that hadn’t made him feel like shit in a very long time. He didn’t even give him his number. Or ask for Patrick’s. 

And on days like this, he regrets it immensely. But he knows why he’d done it. He wanted to keep the memory of the way Patrick had looked at him, with a smile in his eyes. If they had exchanged numbers, Patrick would’ve called him, would’ve wanted to meet again. 

And apart from the probably impossible logistics of making that happen, as soon as Patrick would’ve gotten to know him better, he would have upped and left, just like most people in his life had done. 

It had been sheer self preservation to walk away; David wasn’t stupid, he knew he’d been too vulnerable that day. The brief amount of time they had spent together had made him too susceptible to his teasing, his smiles, his gentleness. 

Those beautiful brown eyes had seen too much already - more time and David would’ve told him things he’d only regret, things that would have made Patrick run for the hills. 

No, he would rather have the memory of sleepy smiles on a soft face that still haunt his dreams sometimes. 

“Oh, wow.” A quiet voice tears him out of his wallowing, and as he looks up, he gasps in shock. 

As if conjured up by David’s mind, Patrick stands in front of him, mouth open in visible surprise. His hair is a wild mess, longer than David remembers, curling around his head. He’s wearing blue jeans, a thick blue sweater, a warm winter coat draped over his arm. 

“Uh,” is all David manages to say, watching as Patrick breaks out into a smile so bright it’s almost blinding. 

“Hi,” Patrick replies, his honey colored gaze wandering over David with such appreciation, David ducks his head. 

Patrick looks at him for another long moment before he flops into the seat opposite. David can still feel him watching, feels his eyes almost like a warm caress on his cold skin. It makes him shiver for entirely different reasons. 

“Fancy meeting you here,” Patrick says, his voice a bit shaky and as David finally meets his gaze, the smile on Patrick’s face is a bit lopsided. 

“I was just thinking about you,” David blurts out, while some rational part of his brain wants to immediately run away. 

Patrick’s face does something very complicated; it’s like watching twenty different emotions darting over his face before it settles into something that looks a lot like fondness. Like _hope_. 

“So you summoned me then?,” he says softly, eyes twinkling with mirth in the cold lights. 

David feels his mouth twist into a smirk - the half buried memories of their banter instantly rushing back. 

“Maybe I did,” he says, clearing his throat. “Didn’t know I could do that though. Might’ve-” he stops, biting his tongue. ‘ _Done it much earlier_ ’ isn’t really a thing he can say out loud. 

But Patrick caught it. “Might’ve what?” he prods, leaning forward, eyes never once leaving David’s. For one long moment he loses himself in the depth of those warm brown eyes. 

“Might’ve conjured myself a private jet, I guess,” he quips. “Or a commercial one that’s actually on time.” Patrick’s face falls a little, as if he expected a different answer. 

He swallows hard, rubbing a hand over his jeans-clad thigh. 

“Ah, you’re delayed too then?” It’s not really a question, but David nods. 

“Yep.” 

Patrick’s eyes dart around the waiting area before they meet David’s again. There’s something in them that makes David hold his breath. 

“Lucky me.” Patrick’s voice is so quiet, David isn’t sure he’s supposed to have heard it. He hesitates a moment before he throws caution to the wind. 

New year, new opportunities. 

“No, lucky _me_ ,” he murmurs, not daring to look at Patrick directly. He can see his smile through his lashes, and the cold knot in his stomach melts a little. 

“Lucky us,” Patrick murmurs, the smile growing. David feels a mirroring smile on his face and he bites it back. 

“Can I tempt you with some coffee?” Patrick asks when the silence between them starts to become heavy. 

David is nodding before he can stop himself. “Coffee would be nice.” 

Patrick’s smile becomes blinding. 

“This time you’re buying”, he says as he stands, holding out his hand to David. He hesitates before he lays his in Patrick’s. He pulls him up; David didn’t expect the force behind it, and he stumbles against Patrick who instantly wraps his free arm around his waist to steady him. 

They’re pressed together, Patrick’s nose almost brushing against David’s neck, while David's lips are dangerously close to Patrick’s temple. He can almost taste his warmth. 

“Sorry,” Patrick whispers. He doesn’t let go, and neither does David. He raises his free hand - it’s trembling ever so slightly as he rests it on Patrick’s elbow. Slowly he lets his fingers dance over his arm, and he can feel him shiver at his touch. 

He gets lost in the rough fabric of the sweater against his fingertips, can almost feel the muscles beneath it, and for a moment he wonders if his skin there is just as pale as his face. 

“I couldn’t forget you,” Patrick murmurs quietly, the hand around David’s waist pulling him impossibly closer. “I was wondering whether I would ever see you again.” 

David whimpers at the intimacy in his words, curling his hand over Patrick’s shoulder to steady himself. His knees are a bit wobbly and he’s glad for Patrick’s strong arms. 

“Why would you want that?” David bites out, suddenly all the mistakes he’s made in his life rushing back, filling him with the same dread that kept him from giving Patrick his number. 

Patrick’s brows narrow as he ducks his head, searching David’s eyes. 

“Because you’re gorgeous and funny and I’d really like to get to know you better,” Patricks says, voice steady and strong. 

“That I have heard many times before,” David mutters. “Never ends well.” There’s darkness in his tone but it only makes Patrick squeeze his hand gently. 

“Didn’t stop you from thinking about me,” he murmurs, the tease so honest it makes David’s heart stutter. 

“Yeah well, never thought it’d actually happen.” David tries to extricate himself from Patrick’s arms. He’s quickly losing control and he knows he should put a stop to this immediately. 

Patrick loosens his grip around David’s waist just enough so David could step away. He doesn’t. 

“Just- one thing before you- can I tell you something?” Patrick sounds insecure for a moment, and David feels himself nod again, even though his mind is screaming at him to _run_. 

Patrick exhales heavily, his breath hot against David’s neck. 

“There was one thing I promised myself I’ll tell that beautiful stranger I met on a horrible flight about a year ago if I ever saw him again,” he starts, pulling back enough to meet David’s gaze. “And here you are. So-” he clears his throat, honey colored eyes full of intent. “Thank you, David. You helped me find myself. Because of you, I finally realized who I am.” Patrick blows out a breath that tickles David’s neck. He suppresses a shiver as Patrick continues quietly. “I was supposed to get married - to a woman - in the summer. And I was terrified. That’s what I was running away from when we met. And then we talked, we laughed, and I was wondering why I’ve never felt like this before.” 

Something in his words makes alarm bells go off in David's head, and he bristles. 

“Like what? Gay-curious?” he bites out with more venom than he intended. “Been there, done that, no thank you.” 

He knows he radiates massive gay vibes; it’s never really been a conscious choice, but over the years he has realized that it works mostly in his favor. So he never held back, and when he thought he’d found someone he could open up to, his pansexuality sometimes had become a topic to talk about. More often than not it never got that far. 

He’s been a plaything for too many straight guys; too many times some guy had been sweet on him, and he had taken him to bed only to be laughed out of there in the morning. He doesn’t need that anymore, he deserves better than that. 

“No,” Patrick says, gently pulling him out of his anxiety spiral. “I already knew that. Well, I had the feeling it might be that. But seeing you, talking to you, and most importantly, being silent with you, made me wonder why I couldn’t admit that to myself. Or more importantly, to her.” He bites his lip. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. And then I went back to my fiancee, hoping she could set me straight again-” 

David snorts unamused, making Patrick blush heavily. 

“Yeah, sorry. Anyways, the more time I spent with her, the more I realized that we were all wrong.“ He lets go of David entirely, only his hand remains tightly entwined with David’s. “I broke off the engagement, and started dating guys. And while that was definitely the better choice, it still didn’t feel right.” He rubs a hand over his neck, for the first time avoiding David’s eyes. When he continues, it’s quiet and hesitant. 

“I know it was only a few hours, a fucking year ago no less, and yet I’ve never felt more _right_ with anyone than with you. Seeing you again, here, now, you still make me feel right from the second I saw you. I know it’s a bit much, we barely know each other, and yet-” he trails off, his big brown eyes on David’s face, making his insides flutter. 

“And yet, what?” he asks sharply. “You wanna try with me? Fuck me to see if you’re really gay?” His throat closes up, and he drops Patrick’s hand. He knows he’s overreacting, but after thinking about him too much throughout the year, now having him stand in front of him, saying all these things is just too good to be true. 

He exhales harshly, but before he can continue, Patrick shakes his head, face determined. 

“No. I wouldn’t do that to you. From what I gathered you’ve been hurt badly in the past. All I wanted was to tell you, wanted to thank you for opening my eyes. And give you my number. The rest is up to you.” 

Fumbling through the pockets of his jacket, he pulls out a business card and holds it out to David. “This is me,” Patrick says softly. “Do with that what you like.” He hesitates a second before he leans in. David holds his breath as Patrick brushes the softest of kisses against his cheek. “Whatever happens, I hope you find happiness, David.” There’s a sadness around Paricks’s eyes as he steps back, grabbing his suitcase and walking away, back straight, not once looking back. 

David stares helplessly after him, the card in his cold hand. 

_Patrick_

Patrick’s phone rings ten minutes later while he’s getting something to drink. His heart is racing as he fumbles for his phone. 

Unknown number. His fingers are shaking as he answers the call. 

“Hello?” 

“I am damaged goods.” David’s voice is quiet, and Patrick presses the phone closer to his ear. “I’m not good with people, I’m not good with relationships in any way. I have one friend left who’s still speaking to me, and I guess that’s only because she’s just as lonely as I am” Patrick hears him exhale heavily. “I share a motel room with my sister in a town nobody has ever heard of, let alone wants to live in voluntarily.” He falls silent, and Patrick needs all his will power to not drop everything and instantly walk back to him. This is something David needs to get off his chest first. So he waits, holding his breath. 

“I don’t trust people anymore, and I don’t trust myself when it comes to making smart choices for myself. But I know one thing for sure. I can’t be anyone’s experiment. I just cannot. I’ve been through that too many times.” David’s voice wobbles a little, and Patrick wants to punch every single person that ever made him feel like this. “But- I know what you meant. Earlier. When you said I make you feel right. Because that’s how I felt too.” It comes out in a whisper, and Patrick is on his feet before he knows what he’s doing. His grip around the phone is tight as he hurries back to where he left David. 

He’s still slumped into the hard plastic chair, fiddling with the hem of his sweater, eyes downcast, so visibly searching for words it makes Patrick’s heart ache. 

“I don’t know-” David starts, shaking his head, and Patrick can’t wait any longer. He walks over, ignoring the people he bumps into. “I can’t-” 

“David,” Patrick says softly once he’s close enough, and his heart shatters into a million pieces at the sight of him, curling in on himself in the uncomfortable seat, eyes tightly shut against a world that did nothing but hurt him. 

“David, look at me,” Patrick whispers as he finally reaches him, sinking onto the floor right in front of him. David jerks back, the phone dropping uselessly into his lap. His eyes are huge as he watches in shock how Patrick shuffles closer to take his hands. They’re cold and stiff. 

“All I’m asking here is that you give me a chance,” Patricks asks, emotions thickening his voice. “One chance to show you that not everyone is an asshole. I wasn’t lying when I said I wish you happiness no matter what. But I would be lying if I didn’t hope that I could be part of that.” 

David’s looking at him, the expression on his face one of wonder. His teeth are worrying his lower lip as he takes in Patrick. They keep looking at each other, everything around them fading away. And for one overly clear moment Patrick thinks he’s gone too far, said too much or the wrong thing. 

“Does that coffee offer still stand?” David asks, looking down on their entwined hands. Patrick’s entire body sags in relief, and he almost sobs out a laugh. 

“Yes, of course.” 

“Then I’d like that very much.” 

“Ask and you shall receive.” 

They stay like that for another long moment, before Patrick’s knees start protesting and he scrambles to his feet. 

“I know just the place,” he says with a smirk, once again holding out his hand for David to take. This time he lays his in it instantly. 

“Do you now?” David’s words are teasing and his voice only the slightest bit shaky. 

Patrick squeezes his hand before he lets go to take David’s suitcase. “I do, I’ve been around these parts of town quite a bit in the past. Follow me.” His heart is light when he starts walking. But then a thought stops him, and he turns around. 

“You’re going back to Toronto, again, yes?” 

David shrugs. “Not exactly Toronto, but if you’re talking about the flight, yes, I am. You?” 

“Yes, me too. Just wanted to make sure. I don’t wanna lose you again.” The moment it comes out, he bites his lip, worry about scaring David away after all washing over him. 

“You won’t.” David smirks weakly. 

Patrick exhales. “Good. Come on, there’s a coffee with your name waiting for you. How do you take it?” 

“Macchiato, skimmed milk, two sweeteners and a sprinkle of cocoa powder.” The way David says it, low and almost hesitant, makes Patrick smile softly. He has the feeling nobody ever even asked him about it. 

*

They’re sitting next to each other in a small booth at the airport cafe. This time it’s buzzing with people; some are glaring at them for hogging the space for almost two hours now. 

They ignore it, they only have eyes for each other. 

David’s mangling a croissant, ripping it methodically apart while he listens attentively to Patrick talk about coming out, to himself, then to his parents and his ex-fiancee. How Rachel threw all his belongings in the street like in a bad movie. His lips curl into a knowing smile now and then, which is so achingly soft that Patrick desperately wants to kiss it. He keeps himself in check even though he’s overly aware of David’s thigh pressing against his. 

The closeness is not helping to keep his heart rate level, and his pulse stutters whenever David’s eyes meet his - sideway glances, shy and full of tentative hope. 

“And now I’m basically on the run. Homeless, so to speak, unless I wanna go back to my parents’ place, which I don’t. No fault of theirs, I love them but I need some distance now. Plus, they loved Rachel. I have a job offer in a town outside of Toronto, and I might take it. Just for a while until I can sort myself out a bit more.” 

David hums approvingly, shoving bits of the disassembled croissant in his mouth. It’s distracting, especially as David licks some crumbs from his fingers. 

“So we’re both escaping an old life in search of something new.” It’s a statement and he’s not following it up, but it only confirms Patrick’s inkling that he needs to be patient with David. And he will - he just knows it’ll be worth it. 

*

Their flight is packed but Patrick sweet talks the lady next to David into swapping seats with him. David watches him with an unreadable yet very amused expression. 

“Do you want to watch me sleep again?” he asks dryly as Patrick falls into the seat, sighing deeply. 

“Maybe I want you to watch me for a change.” 

“Oh, I already did, remember? You’re cute when you drool all over yourself.” 

Patrick blushes at being called cute as he’s settling in. He watches curiously as David pulls out a small bottle with disinfectant, sanitizing not only his armrests, but also Patrick’s and the tray tables in front of them. 

“What?” David says defensively as he puts the bottle away, arranging his bag neatly at his feet. 

“Nothing,” Patrick says truthfully. He finds it very charming. 

“Do you have any idea how many germs live on surfaces on an airplane?” David asks, and he spends the next half hour about lecturing him about it. Patrick listens, a soft smile on his lips. David talks animatedly, hands flying through the air to underline what he’s saying; every now and then they brush against Patrick’s, and he’s sure it’s on purpose. It makes his stomach swoop every time. 

The conversation moves easily through all sorts of topics, and Patrick realizes that David is a highly intelligent man in his own right. He is passionate about beauty and art, about fashion and the correct way to display clothes in stores. He spends ten minutes teaching Patrick about skin and hair care, and even though Patrick never even heard about under eye serum, he listens attentively. 

David keeps the conversation light, always steers them away from personal things about himself. Still, Patrick finds out that he does indeed live in a motel in a town he actually owns; he’s not pushing for details, it’s not that important right now. 

He briefly talks about his parents, who seem to live in the room next to him and his sister. 

And as much as David tries to conceal it, Patrick can see the affection for his family in his face - it goes softer around the edges even as he talks about how he hates not having enough privacy or as much space as he’s used to. It warms Patrick’s heart. 

As cool and untouchable as David comes across, Patrick has the strong feeling that he’s the total opposite. It shows in the way he snarks about the people in the town; even as he complains about their many incapabilities in all sorts of ways, his eyes are shining warmly and his voice is gentle despite the snark in his words. 

The longer Patrick listens -and he already realizes that he just needs to let David rant so he can hear all the things he doesn’t say- the more he notices that David isn’t as unhappy with his life as he makes everyone -and probably himself- believe. 

The small spark of hope inside Patrick grows with every minute he spends listening to David. 

*

Before they know, the plane lands. They stay together through security and out into the cold Torontonian air. Only the ringing of David’s phone makes them realize that their time is coming to an end. 

“Alexis will be here in five minutes.” David says quietly, putting his phone away. 

Patrick nods, clinging tightly to the handle of his suitcase. 

“So.” 

“So.” 

They look at each other, grinning stupidly. 

“You have my number.” Patrick says, the small fire in his chest flaring up as David nods, unconsciously patting the pocket where his phone is. 

“And you have mine.” David had scribbled it onto the napkin at the cafe even though Patrick already has it saved in his phone. 

“Yes.” 

“All I ask of you is to be honest with me, okay?” David says hesitantly, “if you-” 

“David, I’ve been thinking about you for over a year now. Today hasn’t changed that. Quite the opposite.” Patrick says; and it’s instinct that makes him take David’s hand in his, threading their fingers together. “I can’t wait to see you again. Next time we’ll meet at a proper restaurant. Those airport cafes are slowly losing their appeal.” 

The smile that spreads over David’s face is beautiful, and Patrick can’t stop looking. He tries to memorize the way David’s lips curl, the smile tucked into the corner of his soft-looking mouth. He wants to remember the way his eyes sparkle and the lines around them deepen as Patrick caresses his hand with his thumb. 

He’s so transfixed that he doesn’t see David’s other hand slowly reach out for him, Only as it settles oh so gently against his cheek, he blinks rapidly. 

“I’m glad we’ve met, Patrick,” David whispers softly, his darkened eyes briefly flickering over Patrick’s lips. 

“Me too,” Patrick replies in the same hushed tone. He holds his breath as David’s fingers slide over his ear, the metal of his rings cool against his heated skin. 

“Just making sure,” David murmurs as he leans in, brushing his lips against Patrick’s. 

He whines, the brief touch shooting small shocks through his body. Reaching out, he tangles his own hand in David’s hair, which is cool and soft. 

“Try again?” he teases shakily. 

Kissing David while he’s smiling might be the most wonderful thing in the world. Patrick can almost taste his happiness, and he feels it wash over himself, filling every cell of his body with giddy joy. Pressing closer against David's body, he deepens the kiss. David hums as Patrick flicks his tongue against David’s lower lip. He parts them and Patrick sighs into the kiss. It’s slow and slick, and Patrick never wants to stop. 

A really insistent car horn makes David break away. He rests his forehead against Patrick’s for a moment before pulling away with a groan. 

“I’ve gotta go,” he says, kissing Patrick one more time before he steps back. Patrick feels instantly bereft. A huge black car idles a few metres away; Patrick can’t see the driver but David shoulders his bag, walking backwards in direction of the car. 

He opens his mouth; maybe to say goodbye, maybe to say something else, and suddenly Patrick feels tears prickle in his eyes. He drops his own bag, takes the few steps that separate him from David. Burying both his hands in his hair, he pulls him into a hard, heated kiss, licking deep into his willing mouth as if trying to leave a lasting impression. He wants to erase all the people that David has kissed before him, making him remember only him. Patrick doesn’t realize that he’s growling until David’s hand comes to rest on his chest, making the vibrations in there audible. 

“That town you’ve got that new job offer at, where is it?” David asks breathlessly against Patrick’s tingling lips. 

Trying to control his own erratic breathing, it takes Patrick a moment to get his brain working again. 

“Oh. Uhm, I think it was something with a Creek in the name?” His mind is still occupied with David’s mouth against his, and it makes thinking hard. “Schitt’s Creek, that’s it.” 

David’s loud gasp makes him tear his eyes away from his lips. David’s eyes are huge; shock, surprise and hope blindingly obvious on his expressive face. 

“Are you okay?” Patrick asks a bit concerned, gently resting his hand on David’s cool cheek. 

He’s nodding with a dazed look in his eyes. 

The car horn sounds again, and Patrick lets go, giving David a soft nudge. 

“Go.” It’s merely a whisper but David hears it. Wordlessly he licks his lip which makes Patrick’s hand tighten into fists, the nails biting deep into his palm. He watches as David opens the backdoor, throwing his suitcase and his bag on the backseat before getting into the passenger seat; Patrick can see that he basically forces himself to close the door. 

And then he’s gone. 

Patrick is still motionlessly staring after the vanishing car as his phone buzzes. He pulls it out. A text. 

‘ _I’ll see you around. DR_.’ 

The smile on Patrick’s face is almost painful in its intensity. 

‘ _Looking forward to it.'_


End file.
